


Don’t speak to me of loyalty

by A_Pinch_Of_Sage



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Gen, Let’s pretend Phil is a good dad ok, Lots of it, Phil can cook!, Techno hates kids, The government is why we can’t have nice things, and then theres tubbo, theyre a family your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Pinch_Of_Sage/pseuds/A_Pinch_Of_Sage
Summary: Phil snapped out of his daze and had all but five seconds to take his spoon out of the pot and point it at the intruder who was stomping up the stairs.The door slammed open.“Philza!”“Techno?”  Phil asked, perplexed.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 103





	Don’t speak to me of loyalty

**Author's Note:**

> Okay look...this is really late. Like two weeks late. I wrote this before the festival so! Canon doesn’t matter in this fic. Enjoy Phil trying to enjoy house arrest but being interrupted by his chaotic children. Oh yeah, Tubbo shows up too.

Before the night had gone to shit, it started off like any other. Phil was making dinner for himself in the comfort of his tiny kitchenette. The heater cranked to the highest setting so he could escape the chill December air. 

Hunched over the gas stove, Phil stirred a giant pot of soup with a slow, even pace. His messy blonde hair pulled off his face to keep the loose strands from covering in his eyes. The wooden sandals he always wore were placed by the front door, leaving his sock-covered feet to tap a mindless beat on the floor. 

The soup, a rich brown mixture, simmered nicely over the fire. Small bubbles foaming at the edge of the pot. It was almost ready, just needed to add some herbs and veggies, which have already been minced and chopped beforehand.

Phil leaned over, grabbed a small handful of minced thyme leaves off the cutting board, and sprinkled it into the soup. A delicious aroma wafted through the air. Beef broth and onion. It made his mouth water. 

Who could resist French onion soup. It was such a simple dish to make that required minimal ingredients. A classic supper in the Philza household. 

The recipe quickly became one of his favorites that he liked to cook in his spare time—considering the house arrest order, it seemed like he had nothing but time nowadays. 

Even though he lived alone, Phil always made a big enough batch with plenty of leftovers. Sometimes he’d like to skip cooking dinner one night and heat up whatever leftovers were in the fridge! It was nice to have a hot meal prepared in case anyone came to visit. 

Lately, Ghostbur has been popping in to say hi with Friend, his fluffy blue companion. I miss you, that’s why I’m visiting! We should catch up more, is what he usually said when Philza asked why he was there. Not like he minded the company. 

Maybe it was a lie, maybe it wasn’t. You could never tell with the bubbly ghost. 

Phil hummed a random tune he had listened to earlier that day. He was watering his plants in his front lawn with his shirt clinging to the sweaty skin of his back, blistering sun high in the sky and beaming down on him. Thankfully, he had a hat to protect himself from any sunburns. He did tend to burn quite easily. 

Cooking could be a chore sometimes, but it was also rewarding. He took gracious sips of his white wine, basking in the crisp alcoholic taste that soaked his tongue. A pleasant buzz settled in the pit of his stomach when he swallowed. 

There was about half a bottle leftover from when he caramelized the onions, so who was he to refuse a glass. Or three. 

While he wasn’t the biggest fan of alcohol, a glass here and there wouldn’t hurt anybody. After the shit show this month has been, he definitely needed it. Tearing down corrupt governments and arguing with stubborn teenagers was a lot of work. 

Especially when you consider that fact that the man raised three sons all by himself. Did he mention that one of them was Tommy Innit? Yeah, he did that. By himself. 

Phil took another, well-deserved sip. 

He still doesn’t know how he managed that. Someone should given him a goddamn medal for accomplishing such a horrendous task. That doesn’t mean that he was a perfect dad or anything, but he did a pretty okay if he did say so himself. 

Deciding to take a break from stirring, Phil walked over to the cabinet. He nudged a bag of rice to the side and grabbed a fresh baguette off the closest shelf. There was a small bag of potatoes on the top shelf, which was constantly restocked to appease a certain blood thirsty anarchist. 

The farmer’s market happened to be open earlier today, which Phil happily left house arrest for. Rules be damned. No authority could keep him from stocking up on ingredients for the week, not even the president. Not like he cared enough to listen. 

The plastic wrap crinkled when placed on the counter with a soft thud. Grabbing a knife from the drawer next to him, Phil opened the bag and began cutting the bread. A gentle but firm grip. Years of expertise in the making that was learned from countless nights of making dinner while his children chased each other around the house. Tommy, for fucks sake, stop chasing Wilbur with a wooden sword! 

Wrapping the remaining half of the baguette, Phil stowed it back in the pantry and returned to the stove. The soup boiled viciously while he was preoccupied, so Phil quickly turned down the heat. 

Shouldn’t take much longer now. He finally had time to relax and unwind. His shoulders dropped, all the tension that built up throughout the week leaving his body. Maybe he would brew some potions or sharpen his tools. 

It was days like these where the father was grateful to be under house arrest. No wars to fight, no blood to shed. Nothing to worry about at all, he was completely engulfed in the tranquil atmosphere. 

Glancing out his window, the sun started to slowly set on the horizon. Vibrant shades of fiery orange and golden yellow stretching across a cloudless sky. Phil smiled to himself. 

It was the end of a perfectly normal day—

A sudden crash echoed below, followed by a muffled swear. Phil’s eyes darted to the wooden floorboards. 

Spoke too soon, his brain thought tiredly. 

Maybe if he stared hard enough, he’d gain the ability to peer through multiple layers of concrete. Someone was in his basement, he didn’t know who, and guessing by the sound of the crash, they tripped over something.

Phil snapped out of his daze and had all but five seconds to take his spoon out of the pot and point it at the intruder who was stomping up the stairs. 

The door slammed open. 

“Philza!”

Oh. 

It was just.

“Techno?” Phil asked, perplexed. 

Multiple emotions bubbled viciously in his head at the sight of the pink-haired man. He was confused, worried, and most importantly, pissed off. Could warn a guy next time before barging into their house, unannounced. He could’ve been some axe-wielding murderer for all Phil knew. 

Well…at least he wasn’t an axe-wielding stranger. 

Raising a hand to his chest to calm his erratic heartbeat, Phil exhaled slowly. In and out. In and out. 

Right then and there, he considered the pros and cons of moving out of L’manberg and telling no one his whereabouts. He was getting too old to handle jump scares like this. 

“You almost gave me a heart attack, what the hell are you doing?” He demanded, lowering his spoon. The weapon no longer needed. 

Techno raised his hands innocently, his chest rising and falling heavily as he panted. “Right, I forgot you’re ancient and can’t handle surprises. But okay! Before you get mad, I know I’m only supposed to come here when I need something but—wait, why do you have a spoon in your hand?” 

“I was making soup before you decided to scare the life out of me,” Phil grumbled, turning back around to check his soup. 

“More importantly, why are you here?” He asked. “ I know you don’t care for government authority, but you need to be more careful when sneaking over here. Especially when I’m on house arrest.” He stuck out his foot to show off the ugly ankle monitor made of cheap black plastic. 

Techno nodded quickly. “Right, I forgot. Don’t worry, I’ll save you one day, Philza Minecraft.” He sniffed the air. “What kind of soup are you making? Smells like french onion.”

“Techno, focus.”

“Okay, okay. Remember when you told me not to come here unless it’s important?”

“Yeah?” Phil was slow to respond. Hesitant. He did not like where the conversation was heading.

“Well, uh, something important happened.” 

Phil picked up the cutting board and, using his knife, slid the veggies into the pot, careful to not spill any on the floor. He hummed, waiting for the other to elaborate. 

Techno glanced over his shoulder and stared at the dark entrance to the basement. “Yeah, it was unexpected and surprising and definitely important enough to come all the way here to tell you.”

“Uh-huh, and what’s that?” Phil asked halfheartedly. He wasn't really listening, to be honest. Already used to Techno’s surprise visits and hour-long monologues. 

“...I was on my way back home from gathering materials and found Tommy curled up outside my front door like a raccoon! He was covered in blood and, honestly, looked like he got mauled on the way to my house. You can imagine my reaction, so I dragged him here and now he’s bleeding out in your basement.”

“That’s nice, Techno.” Phil muttered. 

“Heh?”

The room fell silent for a moment, the elder man blissfully unaware of the shocked expression on Techno’s face. 

Phil stood there stirring his soup, crouching down to see if the oven preheated. Almost at 375...all he needed to do was get some bowls to ladle the soup into. Maybe bits of shredded cheese. Tommy liked cheese, he would always complain if there wasn’t any to sprinkle on top of his soup.

Tommy...Tommy. Wonder how’s he doing, Phil thought casually.

Out of nowhere, the information finally dawned on him. It felt like someone dumped a bucket of iced water on his head. Tommy is hurt. Tommy is bleeding out in my basement. 

Without saying a word, Phil calmly turned the gas stove off, muting the blue flame, and turned around. 

“Tommy’s what?” Phil shrieked, needing to make sure he just heard what Techno said because if he did, if he fucking did…

“I just told you that he’s bleeding out in your basement,” Techno deadpanned and shifted uneasily. He looked as stressed and tired as Phil felt in that moment. “And if you don’t hurry up, then the rats will eat his decomposed body before we get the chance to help him. Not like he would taste good anyway. Do you know how hard it is to hide a body, Philza? Well, actually, it’s not hard at all. You just need to know basic chemistry and make a quick stop at a hardware store—

The wooden spoon clattered to the floor. Phil was out of the kitchen and rushing down the basement steps in the blink of an eye. Techno, startled by the sudden action, stumbled after him. 

“What do you mean you found him like this? What happened? What did you do!” Phil yelled as he stormed down the stairs. 

His parental instincts took over and millions of scenarios rushed through his head. What ifs and doubts. What if he was too late? What if they couldn’t save him? What if. What if. What if. 

“Why is your first thought that I did something to him?!”

Phil glanced over his shoulder, giving him a look. 

Techno chuckled nervously. “Okay, fair enough. But in my defense, if I wanted to kill Tommy, he would’ve died much sooner.” 

“That is not helping!”

“Just because I hate children, specifically orphans, that doesn’t mean that I’d hurt Tommy. Not unless he did something to deserve it. Also, I’d like to point out that he was the one who found my secret base, which is really not much of a secret now thanks to him,” Techno grumbled, boots thudding against the stone bricks. 

For once, he wasn't the source of violence, wasn’t the direct cause. Anarchists needed breaks too, you know. 

He had just got back from a three-day trip when he found Tommy curled up in front of his door, clothes torn and covered in dirt. His hair was messy and tangled, hiding the fresh bruises on his face. Purple and red covering the expanse of his pale skin. The rest of his face was hidden in his folded arms, but Techno assumed the worst. 

Phil scoffed. “You don’t just find people bleeding out to death on your porch, Techno!”

“You do when it’s Tommy Innit! He’s a problem child, a goblin. What do you want me to say, Phil? That he dropped out of the sky like some ancient prophet sent down to punish man for being selfish?”

“Now is not the time for dramatic speeches! Your brother is hurt!” 

Techno cleared his throat. “Actually, the correct term would be a monologue since I was speaking to you. A soliloquy, on the other hand, would be if I was speaking my thoughts aloud.” 

“Oh my gosh. Just show me where he is, for fucks sake!” Phil hissed as they reached the ground floor. 

The basement was spacious with a high cobblestone ceiling to allow guests to come and go comfortably. It was still a work in process with crafting tables, furnaces, and brewing stands lining the walls. Double chests filled with various tools, blocks, and supplies. 

Techno pointed to the back right corner of the room where a small bed was tucked in between two bookshelves.

Tommy sat on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of him. His body, heavy and unconscious, leaned against the wooden frame of the bed. Head lolled to the side, arms limp. So tired and so weak. Uneven, quiet breaths escaped his chapped lips, a smear of red coating the bottom of his nose and chin. A lantern sat on the floor next to him, unlit. 

Phil rushed over and crouched down to get a better look at the injured boy. Standing off to the side, Techno crossed his arms and watched with an unreadable expression. Fingers twitching. 

Bruises, cuts, and pieces of dirt covered Tommy’s face. Streaks of red stained his blond tips, clumping the hair together. He looked worse for wear. Has definitely seen better days if the dark circles and heavy eye bags were anything to go by. 

Leaning forward, Phil gently cupped the boy’s face, careful to not worsen the injuries. His heart ached at the sight, seeing his son so beaten down and broken. 

“Jesus. What did you get yourself into, Tommy,” Phil mumbled to himself, thumb brushing the rough skin of his bruised cheek. The gentle touch of a concerned father. 

Techno crouched down to light the lantern with a torch he grabbed off the wall. The orange glow illuminated the side of Tommy’s face, enhancing his features. In the light, you could see the developing bruises on his temple. His brows were furrowed, face scrunched up unpleasantly. Lips pulled down into a scowl. 

“He’s always causing trouble, Phil. Even in exile, he’s a walking inconvenience, and you know how I feel about inconveniences.” 

“He's your brother and you’re going to help him,” Phil stated firmly while adjusting the blanket on his shoulders. While running his hand over the fabric, his fingertips brushed over a patch of soaked fabric. 

It was then he noticed the strong metallic smell in the air. Strong enough to make his eyes water. He pulled his hand away. It was streaked with dark crimson. 

“I'm only here because I didn’t know what else to do, Phil!” Techno exclaimed, walking around in circles. “You think I know how to take care of wounds? All I know how to do is spill blood, drink potion, and destroy government.”

“Stay here,” Phil ordered as he stood up. “I’m gonna grab a first aid kit from upstairs, watch Tommy for me. He could wake up at any moment.” 

“What could he possibly do, Phil?” The anarchist argued, toeing the unconscious boy’s thigh with his boot. “He's a limp noodle! What is he gonna do? He’s as good as dead. Gone! Didn’t live to see the sunrise. Tommy Innit is finally gone, pogchamp.” 

“Techno,” Phil warned and Techno sighed.

“Okay, I’ll watch him. Only for you, Phil. For you, the world. I’ll protect you till your last, dying breath. I will watch over this angry raccoon and tame him if he wakes in the three seconds that you’re gone. 

Satisfied with the answer, the worried father hurried up the stairs. Now the panic was finally setting in. Heart beating wildly in his chest, the sound of blood rushing filled his ears. His determination was stronger than his fear, and that kept him moving. He needed to act fast. Find the first aid kit, go downstairs, help Tommy. That was his objective. 

Once he reached the kitchen, Phil rummaged through all of his cabinets. Opening every single drawer and cabinet. 

He always had a first aid kit in his home to handle situations just like this one. A safety precaution he prepared ahead of time. Running into several incidents in the past, Philza wanted to have basic medical knowledge to avoid any hospital visits. 

Come on, where is it? It's gotta be here somewhere. Where the fuck is it! 

Phil ran a hand through his hair to calm himself down. Just think. He spun around, eyes darting wildly around the room. It’s here somewhere, it’s gotta be. His gaze landed on the unopened double chest in the corner. 

Surely, it must be in there.

In a frenzy, he threw open the lid of the chest. All his organized items laid in front of him, at least thirty minutes to put together. To hell with organization. Not wasting any time, he dug through the chest to find the familiar red and white box. 

Where is it?! 

A knock sounded behind him. 

Phil ignored it. 

He had to keep looking. It was here somewhere, it had to be. He had to find it. He had to! He had to save his son. He already lost one of them, he will be damned if he loses another. 

“Oh, sorry. Is this a bad time?” Tubbo’s voice rang through the air. The teen stood in the open doorway, uncertain about whether he should come in or not. 

God damn it. Why now? Out of all days, why did he have to do a check-in now? 

“Yea, I’m kinda in the middle of something,” Philza huffed and pulled out his set of spare armor, shoving it to the side. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Looking for something. What do you want?” He snapped. Normally, Phil would feel bad for raising his voice at the boy, but he was the one who put him under house arrest and exiled Tommy. It was the least he could do. 

Tubbo’s face fell. He fiddled with his hands, playing with the material of his suit jacket. An anxious habit.

“Oh, um. Sorry, Phil, I just wanted to do a check-in, but I can come back later?” He offered, hoping that will ease some of Phil’s worries.

It didn’t. 

His son was still bleeding out in his basement. The clock was ticking, and he didn’t have time for small talk. God damn it, where the fuck is his first-aid kit—His hand brushed against the familiar rough texture of the plastic kit. 

A spark of hope lit in his chest. Maybe it wasn’t too late. 

He quickly pulled the kit out of the chest, instant relief flooding his body as he stared down at the red and white plus sign. His fingers brushed against the rough, plastic cover. 

Phil pushed himself to a stand, ignoring the confused noises and questions coming out of Tubbo’s mouth. He could deal with him later, right now he was focused on Tommy.

“Where are you going with that?” 

“It’s nothing that concerns you,” was Phil’s cool response. 

“As the president, it’s my job to—” 

Before he could finish his sentence, Techno sprinted up the stairs. “Phil!” He yelled, panting heavily. His eyes were wild, darting around the room, hands trembling at his sides. 

Tubbo’s eyes widened, mouth hung open.

“What is he doing here?!”

“God damn it, Techno,” Philza sighed, turning to face the pink-haired man. “I give you one job. Watch him while I grab the first-aid kit—“

“Watch who?” Tubbo interrupted. Rudely, might Phil add. He tended to do that a lot. “Who is down there with you? Why is Techno here? He is not allowed in L’manberg!” 

“Since when have I ever listened to the government, let alone an authority figure, Tubbo?” Techno replied smoothly, unconcerned with the fact that he was talking back to the president. What was he gonna do? Fail to execute him again? 

“It's—you aren’t supposed to be here! You’re exiled for a reason! You can’t just break the rules!”

Techno chuckled at Tubbo’s discomfort. The boy was fuming, looking small and angry in his suit. He was as intimidating as a baby kitten. 

“Rules are meant to be broken.”

Phil decided to cut in before things go out of hand. “Alright, that’s enough! Techno, why are you up here? You’re supposed to be downstairs,” He reminded him, impatience seeping through every word. 

He was using the typical disappointed dad tone. You wouldn’t get yelled at because Phil didn’t like to raise his voice. It took a lot to upset the man, let alone make him angry. But being scolded by him was somehow a million times worse than being yelled out. 

“Tommy’s awake.”

Tubbo’s breath hitched. He stopped, the name registering in his brain. 

Phil’s shoulders tensed, his grip on the first aid kit tightening. A white knuckled grip. 

Techno looked back and forth between them, noting their reactions. “Oh...right. He wasn’t supposed to know. My bad.” 

“For fucks sake, Techno!” Phil groaned, resisting the urge to facepalm, and handed him the first-aid kit. “Just—Here, take this and go back downstairs. I’ll be right there.”

Accepting the offered bag with a confused expression, the anarchist opened his mouth to protest. 

Phil shut him down immediately with a deathly glare. A poisonous look that read don’t you dare talk back to me right now. 

Seeming to get the message, Techno did a one-eighty and hurried down the stairs to aid the delirious Tommy. 

Tubbo blinked. His mouth was still hung open, and Phil had half the mind to tell him to close it before he caught flies. 

“Is there something you need, Tubbo?” He asked calmly despite feeling every other emotion but calm right now. 

“Tommy’s here?” 

Phil remained quiet. The silence was deafening. There was no point in lying since they both knew the truth. 

“I am neither confirming nor denying.” 

“I know he’s here, Phil,” the president said slowly. “Techno just said that he was. You know that’s against the law.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Phil, don’t do this. You’re better than this. Just let me go down to the basement.” 

“No,” Phil said automatically. 

Tubbo sighed, running a hand through his fluffy brown hair. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Phil. I don’t want you to get in even more trouble for housing outlawed criminals.”

Phil narrowed his eyes. 

“Outlawed criminals?” He repeated, the words bitter on his tongue. “Are you even listening to yourself right now?” 

“They broke the law and got themselves exiled. That’s no one’s fault but their own,” Tubbo said matter-of-factly, almost like he was proud to say such a thing. 

Phil shook his head. “He’s your best friend—the closest thing you’ll have to family, Tubbo. They both were. They raised you, protected you, and helped you when you needed it most—“

“They’re criminals, Phil!” Tubbo exclaimed, throwing up his hands in disbelief. He started listing off reasons on his fingers, “Tommy blew up George’s house and refused to apologize because he thought it was funny. That was private property he damaged. I explicitly told him not to do anything stupid and to stay out of trouble. What does he do? Blow up the king’s house! Dream would’ve had my head if I didn’t exile him. I can’t always protect him. Not like he cares. All he cares about is his discs. He’s selfish, and he deserved to be punished. Technoblade, on the other hand, is a completely different story.” 

Phil held up a hand, silencing him. “Alright, I’m gonna stop you there, Tubbo. You’re out of line. 

I’ll admit, Tommy is the brightest kid out there. He’s impulsive, stubborn and frankly, an annoying little shit sometimes…”

“Exactly! So just let me through and—“

“...I wasn’t finished,” Phil interrupted, and Tubbo closed his mouth. He had the audacity to look ashamed. 

“Tommy may be all of those things. He may cause trouble and get on everyone’s nerves but he’s still my son. My brave, loyal, stupid son,” Phil said fondly. “He’s a tough kid who’s willing to throw himself head-first into any battle without fear. He’s the one putting his life on the line every chance he gets to save this shitty country, even though it doesn't deserve to be saved. He was one of the founders!” 

Tubbo refused to meet his eyes, gaze focused on the scratches in the wooden floorboards. He chewed on his lip as he contemplated everything. The cogs slowly turned, trying to connect the words and give them meaning. 

Phil took this as his cue to continue. “So don’t you dare call him selfish. He’s done more than anyone else in this goddamn server. And calling him selfish for the discs? Wasn’t he the one who put the disc war aside to help L’manberg gain its independence? Didn’t he help you and let you confide in him in your time of need?”

“...”

“And what did he get in return?” Phil asked. “An exile. If anything, Tubbo, I think you’re the selfish one.”

The words were like a slap to the face. It stung, how true the statement was. Tubbo hardened down. 

“Hey, don’t pin this on me,” Tubbo snapped and gestured to himself. “I am the president of this country, I’m just trying to do my job. Laws must be put in place to prevent chaos from happening.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” Phil retorted. “There's already been two wars and the country was blown up, so clearly there’s something wrong with the way things are being run.” 

“That’s not our fault! Wilbur went crazy and blew everything up! It was nobody’s fault but his own. He made a choice that day, Phil, and he had to face the consequences of his actions.”

Phil clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to do something he’ll regret. Like beheading the president while under house arrest.

“The government corrupted him,” the father explained calmly. It took every ounce of his self control to not lash out. 

Flashbacks to that day popped in his head…Wilbur’s speech. Phil’s pleads to not be irrational. The button. It was never meant to be. The click of the button. The hiss of tnts before the explosion. Kill me, Phil. Kill me! Killza! Killza—The sound of a blade entering skin. 

“The power got to his head. Government corrupts people, it needs to be abolished,” Phil mumbled and squeezed his eyes shut. He exhaled shakily, his knees felt like jelly. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. He needed to focus. Tommy. Tommy! He can still save him. He can. He will. 

Tubbo, unaware of the other man’s discomfort, continued. Maybe he did noticed and didn’t care. “What are you saying, Phil? That we should be a lawless country? Who will protect the people?”

Phil laughed mockingly. “Protect the people? What people are you possibly protecting?” 

“Everyone who lives in this country. It’s my job as the president to enforce the law,” Tubbo argued. 

Phil disagreed. “No, it’s not. Your job as the president is to keep peace in the country, not play judge and executioner.”

“Criminals aren’t allowed in L’manberg, Phil.”

“So killing them is your solution?” 

Tubbo gawked. “I—We didn’t kill anyone! Those who are citizens know the rules. Tommy and Techno know they aren’t allowed back in the country.”

Phil hummed thoughtfully. “So executing Techno by dropping a fucking anvil on his head in the middle of town is okay? You condone killing those who disagree with you?” 

“I’m just doing my job. There needs to be order.”

“What happened to protecting people?” 

Tubbo clenched his fists. “I am protecting the people! The people who are a part of this country. The people who obey orders!” 

Obey orders...? 

He’s starting to sound like...

“You know who you sound like, right? And you didn’t protect Tommy, he was a citizen,” Phil said.

Tubbo froze. 

“He…” the teen licked his lips. There was a dazed look in his eyes. Fog filling his brain. “He was too far gone. I warned him, Phil, and he didn’t listen. He needed to be punished,” he said, a hint of hesitance in his voice. 

Was he trying to convince Phil or himself?

“What happened to you, Tubbo. You used to be such a good kid before all this.”

Tubbo met his eyes, his gaze hardening. 

“I grew up, Phil. I need to protect my people.”

“And who’s gonna protect you? Certainly not Dream. And most certainly not Tommy.” 

Tubbo looked away. His posture was as stiff as a board. Spine straight, shoulders hunched. 

Phil breathed out. “Just let me help him, please. I need to help him. God, Tubbo, you should see how the poor kid looks right now. He’s on death’s door. I’ve never seen him look this bad. And you want me to throw him out.” 

“It’s against the law. You’re housing two criminals,” Tubbo defended. 

He’s hopeless, Phil thought. Turning around,  
He made his way to the basement entrance. 

“The government doesn’t always put the people’s best interests at heart, but I’m sure you’re already aware of that.” 

“We’re trying our best.”

“At what cost? The lives of innocent people? Just how many more are you gonna corrupt and destroy? Clearly, one wasn’t enough.”

“We can’t just have total anarchy, Phil! What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying that I already lost one son to the hands of the government,” Phil began and took his first step down the stairs. Before he got out of Tubbo’s field of vision, he glanced over his shoulder. 

Their eyes met. 

“So I refuse to lose another. I’m not making the same mistake twice,” he finished. 

Tubbo opened his mouth, then closed it. What was he supposed to say to that? How could he possibly defend himself? 

As he tried to gather his thoughts, Phil faced forward and hurried downstairs. He could already hear Tommy’s shouts of protests and Techno’s threats of bodily harm if he doesn’t sit still. Even Ghostbur was there, hovering near the bookshelf and watching with a worried expression. Friend curled up next to him. Once Phil entered the room again, everything went downhill from there.

Tubbo watched the father retreat down the stairs. He didn’t follow him, there was no point. It was obvious that he wasn’t wanted, and he wasn’t ready to face Tommy just yet. 

Wordlessly, he opened the front door and stepped out. It closed behind him with a soft click.

**Author's Note:**

> ...Talk about found family.


End file.
